Nevermore Bookstore: Chapter 21

One month later…

Historic or no, Cady was convinced that all government buildings smelled the same.

Paper, warm ink from recently processed photocopies, dusty seats that had held a thousand asses, and an earthy undertone she decided must be sweat.

She was certainly manufacturing enough of it as she sat in the second row of the amphitheater-style hearing room in Townsend Harbor’s city hall.

Dead ahead of her, set away from the problematic plebes by a wood-paneled riser, was a long bench where the officials conducting the hearing were privileged to sit. Today, it held Mayor Stewart, Caryn Townsend, several suited county officials, with a sprinkling of representatives from the Washington State Department of Historic Registers.

Water had been poured in the glasses and placed in front of each of them, insulated carafes dispersed throughout for ease of access.

They were expecting a long meeting.

If the buzz rising from the bodies filing into the room behind her was any indication, they were correct.

Cady’s knotted stomach tightened another notch. The manila folder of paperwork she held had begun to soften where her damp fingertips death-clutched the cardstock.

Gemma, as if having sensed the spike in her cortisol, placed a warm hand over Cady’s. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, even though they both knew she had zero ability to ensure this.

“How many?” Cady asked.

Gemma lifted her eyes and turned over her shoulder, a knitting needle bobbing along as she counted.

“No, don’t tell me,” Cady said. “Okay, tell me. Wait, never mind. If I have to nervous-pee again, my bladder might permanently collapse.”

Had she known exactly how many times she’d have to sprint to the restroom and wrestle herself out of the control-top pantyhose that she had made the mistake of donning in the misguided belief that they made her look more capable, she’d have stopped all liquids twenty-four hours ago.

“It’s really not that bad,” Gemma said. “Twenty, maybe twenty—holy shit!”

“What?” Cady’s neck wrenched as her head involuntarily swiveled toward the back of the room and whatever it was that made Gemma’s jaw drop to her plaid skirt.

Ethan Townsend.

Ethan Townsend in a killer suit.

Starched white collar, vest, tie, and all.

Even in her current condition, Cady had to admit that the granite jaw and narrowed eyes gave him a distinctly James Bond-ian air.

“Why didn’t you tell me he looks like fucking Daniel Craig when he surrenders the khakis?” Gemma asked.

“Because I’ve never seen him in anything except those, his uniform, and jeans.”

They watched as he worked his way down the aisle, stopping to shake the hands he was offered and supply curt nods of acknowledgement. He took a seat at the end of the first row on the side of the aisle that mirrored his mother’s position on the board table. Cady couldn’t help but steal a glance at Caryn, incredibly chic in a designer suit, who visibly swelled with pride at the sight of her dapper son.

The familiar scent of the stout floral perfume Myrtle favored to offset any lingering aroma from her chosen vocation reached Cady before she heard the “pssssst!”

She and Vivian slid into the bench behind theirs, taking the seats behind and just to the left of Cady.

“How are you holding up, honey?” Myrtle’s bony but surprisingly strong hand squeezed Cady’s shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Cady lied.

“If you need a little something, I’m packing,” she stage-whispered on a peppermint-scented breath.

For a very strange moment, Cady thought she might be talking about a firearm. In fact, even after the strange moment, it lingered as a distinct possibility. It wasn’t like Townsend Harbor had metal detectors in their government buildings, and there wasn’t much she’d put past Myrtle.

Who must have read Cady’s confusion, because she fished in her giant bag and came back with several pill bottles. “Leftover from my hip replacement,” she reported. “Got me a doctor who understands how emotionally taxing having your parts replaced can be.”

“Oh wow. That’s so kind of you to offer, but I’d better keep my wits about me,” Cady said, tapping her increasingly sweat-damaged folder.

“Just know they’re here if you need them.” Myrtle gave her another squeeze. She sat back in her seat, placing her enormous bag at her feet while Vivian took her turn in the emotional support position.

The older woman’s steady, sane voice rolled over Cady’s heated, twitchy person like the cool London fog. “We’re with you, my darling. It will all come right in the end.”

The temporary burst of hope Cady felt evaporated the second the thunk of a gavel echoed through the room.

“If all council members could take their places,” Caryn said crisply.

“That’s my cue.” Gemma’s eyes flicked toward the empty chair at the opposite end of the podium from Caryn. Tossing her knitting in her bag, she peeled Cady’s hand away from the folder and held it in hers.

In her best friend’s golden-green eyes, Cady read the resolute stubbornness that had seen them both through so many impossible situations. “After this shit is over, we are going directly to my place, where I’m going to get you shamelessly day-drunk before we marathon The Punisher,” Gemma said.

Gratitude made Cady’s throat ache with tears she’d so far managed to keep trapped in their ducts this morning. “Deal,” she said.

Another insistent crack killed the remainder of restless chatter.

“She brings the gavel from home you know,” Gemma whispered from the side of her mouth before rising.

Cady covered a burp of laughter that may have passed for dismay, given her current circumstances.

“We’d like to thank everyone for coming today,” Caryn said, shimmering into her former-first lady-hostess voice. “As you are all aware, the primary reason for this special joint meeting of the city council and Historical Preservation Society is to address the renovations on the historic Townsend Building.”

A murmur of appreciative agreement rose from the assembled crowd.

“As I’m a member of both committees, Mayor Stewart has asked me to preside over the proceedings,” she said, sending a syrupy little smile in his direction.

“You think they’re doing it?” Myrtle whispered, leaning forward.

Cady nearly aspirated a sip from her water bottle, which resulted in a very loud, very distracting coughing fit.

Caryn waited until the very last rasp to continue.

Sorry, Cady mouthed, her face hot from a mix of shame and forcefully exhaled breath.

Caryn sipped her water, cleared her throat, and continued.

“Regarding the renovation, there are several items of concern at stake. First, the validity of the International Building Code review with regard to the additions. Second, the question of whether the proposed plans warrant vetting by the Washington Department of Archaeology and Historic Preservation, and finally, the ongoing question of the building’s ownership, pursuant to claims made in Fern Bloomquist’s probate court.”

As hard as Cady tried to hold the parade of words in her head, they converged into a common soup between her ears. Her mind suggested an altogether different list of items for Caryn to consider.

Did you know your husband was having an affair with my aunt?

How did it feel when you found out?

Did you ever talk to her about it?

Why would my aunt choose a man like your husband?

“Miss Bloomquist?”

Cady snapped to attention, pushing her glasses up her nose and aiming her face toward the council bench. “Yes?”

Caryn shot an I told you so look toward one of the state code office employees whose name Cady couldn’t remember for the life of her.

“Council Chairperson Townsend invited you to provide your evidence that the appropriate paperwork was filed with the city planner’s office,” Mayor Stewart said, managing to work in his trademark a vote for Stew is a vote for you grin.

Cady’s nerves jolted as if hooked to a car battery.

“Yes, of course,” she said, flipping open her folder and paging through the paperwork with shaking hands. Panic made the black letters swim on the page, and she was already finished with her third time through the stack when Vivian’s hand snaked over the back of the bench.

“It’s that one, love,” she said, giving Cady an encouraging smile before resuming her seat.

Ethan, who hadn’t managed to stick to his, loped over to her from the aisle to save her the trouble of having to scoot all the way down in order to carry the paper up to the podium.

Their eyes met for a split second during the hand-off.

Cady tried to load her end of it with as much gratitude and apology as she could, but was met with blank indifference.

He handed the papers to his mother, whose lips twitched at one corner.

Caryn glanced at them for approximately a millisecond before handing them down the row. Cady hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until Caryn announced that the papers would be filed officially with the city council matter in question.

“I also have receipts for the licensed and bonded contractor from the historical society’s list of accepted vendors. They’ve been filed with the records department as well as—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Caryn interrupted. “The council was already aware of this fact. At issue is whether you had the legal right to engage in those processes in the first place.”

Her statement was thick with the suggestion that, in using the established pathways, Cady had purposely circumvented the unspoken expectations of Townsend Harbor local politics.

She absolutely had.

The infusion of her aunt’s life insurance policy had been such a financial relief that she might have gone just a little crazy in her plans.

Heartbreak would do that to you.

An entire month, and not a word from Fox. It had been an exquisite form of torture to watch the physical aftermath of their joining slowly fade from her body while his mark remained on her soul. With the construction, she’d at least had other humans around her living quarters for some of the day. Undertaking the renovation had been the only thing keeping her sane since the day she’d come down from the mountain alone.

“Is there specific evidence that Councilperson Townsend would like to introduce into the record?” Mayor Stewart asked in the perfect layup.

“There is, Mr. Mayor.”

“Mr. Mayor,” Myrtle whispered. “I got twenty dollars says she calls him that while wearing nothing but his tie and a smile.”

Cady bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper.

“I have here letters from several concerned citizens regarding Miss Bloomquist’s previous use of illegally contracted employees.” Caryn lifted a manila folder of her own. “Prior to her use of Miller and Sons, she engaged the services of a local drifter our own Sheriff Townsend is seeking charges against for impersonating a contractor.”

The bottom dropped out of Cady’s stomach.

This was news to her.

She glanced over to Ethan, whose gaze remained fixed on the council, his expression stubbornly impenetrable.

“But he didn’t,” Cady insisted. “He was only helping me with temporary fixes to prevent further damage to the building. He never claimed to be a licensed contractor.”

“Sure did with me,” Ethan said. “Made a verbal statement to that effect.”

Caryn’s lips flattened into a fuchsia line. She may be grateful for the information, but not for the timing or manner of delivery.

“I think the fact that we are all attempting to politely dance around here is that it has not been established that Miss Blomquist is the rightful owner of the building.”

Cady found that thick sheaf of papers by feel alone and held them up like a truce flag. “I have a copy of my aunt’s will right here,” she said. “As the councilwoman has so helpfully pointed out, it hasn’t yet completed probate court, but the will explicitly states Aunt Fern’s intentions to leave me the Townsend Building, the bookstore, and all its assets, in addition to the living space associated with the property.”

“I understand that the late Mr. Townsend’s will contradicts this?” Mayor Stewart asked.

“That’s correct, Mr. Mayor,” Caryn said, stabbing an icy look at Cady. “Being a consummate businessman and a pillar of the community, my late husband made very careful provisions for his family and other beneficiaries. I would be more than happy to furnish copies of his will, which clearly states his intention for the building to be left to his son, Ethan Townsend IV.”

Cady felt her jaw unhinge.

Had that been the reason Ethan was so keen to change the locks? To install security cameras on the inner and outer areas? Because he had intended to take possession of it all along?

“I assume if Fern Bloomquist had a legitimate claim to the building, she would have produced the evidence while probate court was settling my late husband’s estate,” Caryn continued. “As she didn’t, ownership was awarded to my son, who then deeded it to me. And if the building never belonged to Fern, that would necessarily invalidate her niece’s claim to its possession.”

“If this is true,” the mayor said with a contrived expression of thoughtfulness, “why is it you’ve permitted Miss Bloomquist to remained as a resident of the building?”

Caryn’s face softened, and she turned toward the other members of the city council. “I was very aware of the”—she paused as if searching for a word—“challenges Miss Bloomquist faces. With her aunt’s recent passing and the erratic behavior she’s displayed since, I thought it would be best not to add to her stress. My son, who was briefly romantically linked to Miss Bloomquist, held a similar opinion. Blessed as we are, I was happy to be of assistance in making sure she had the opportunity to keep running the little bookshop. As a mother, I confess I’d thought that perhaps it might take a load off my son, who was doing his best to help as well. But it seems our efforts weren’t sufficient to prevent Miss Bloomquist from developing other interests.”

In one fell swoop, Caryn had painted Cady as a burden, an unstable charity case, and a gold digger. You had to hand it to her. It was basically a passive-aggressive masterwork.

“Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll!” a grating, metallic voice croaked out from the back of the room. “That’s what she brings to the neighborhood.”

“Roy,” Caryn said in a tone generally reserved for scolding puppies, “we know you have very strong feelings about this topic, as your proximity exposes you directly to the kind of clientele she attracts, but we’ll have to ask you wait to be recognized to speak.”

Roy’s beady eyes blinked out from behind his thick glasses as he obediently raised his hand.

“Yes, Roy,” Caryn said. “Please proceed.”

Clearing a throat constantly roughened by cigar smoke, Roy stood. “We’ve all seen the kind of people she has hanging around at her shop.”

“As opposed to the actual toilets you have outside of yours,” Gemma muttered just loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

“While you make an excellent point about the privilege of being entrusted with a business on Water Street, I’d suggest we table this point until the tourism council can join us to weigh in,” Caryn suggested.

“I’d agree with that suggestion,” Mayor Stewart added before turning his attention back to Cady. “Miss Bloomquist, to Councilwoman Townsend’s original point, are you able to furnish any evidence that your aunt was the legal owner of this building?”

Cady’s heart started an impromptu slam dance against her ribs. Her mouth had gone dry and sour. Her palms clammy and cold.

Gemma caught her eye and lifted her eyebrows.

They’d been of very different minds when it came to bringing up the evidence of Aunt Fern and Ethan Townsend Senior’s affair. Cady’s opinion being that lambasting Caryn at the expense of revealing Aunt Fern’s affair should be avoided if there was a way to get around it through other mostly legal means.

Gemma’s was that they should rock Caryn’s shit with a nuclear war hammer and dance around her radioactive ashes.

“Miss Bloomquist?” Mayor Stewart repeated.

“I do,” Cady said. “But it’s of a nature that I would prefer were reviewed privately, if possible.”

The pin-drop-silent room began to hum with whispered conversations.

Caryn grabbed her gavel and thumped the block decisively as she and Cady locked eyes. “We have not been made aware of any such evidence.”

“It was recently uncovered within my late aunt’s private correspondence,” Cady said.

“I am certainly not aware of any private correspondence that happened between my husband’s estate and your aunt,” Caryn countered.

“I would be happy to let you review it in a more confidential setting.”

“I think everyone has had quite enough of matters being handled privately when it comes to such a public and treasured town asset.”

Cady and Gemma traded another look.

Did Caryn legitimately not know? Or was she going to try to spin it as a desperate attempt on Cady’s part?

Fuck it. She’d tried.

“Based on items found in my late aunt’s effects, it’s my belief that the late mayor left the Townsend Building to her as a token of his love.”

An audible gasp roared through the room like a riptide.

Caryn paled beneath her perfectly applied makeup. Her rouge stood out in harsh blocks on her prominent cheekbones. Her lips were a garish slash across a mask-tight face.

“And do you have that evidence with you?” Gemma asked, giving Cady a not-so-subtle nudge.

“I do,” Cady said.

Collective gasp, round two.

“Please present it to the council,” the mayor said with about eighty percent less swagger.

Returning to her file folder, Cady pulled out the page in the very back—a color copy of the note from the front of the book that she’d made before she gave it to Fox. She had selfishly hoped it might trigger his interest enough to want to return and stay by her side through this fight, but her giving the book to him had been down to other motives too.

If she really was being targeted by somebody with the power to access her building, rearrange her taxidermy animals, and create havoc with her book stock, she didn’t want this one within their reach. Next to Fox was about the safest place she could possibly think of.

She tried to catch Ethan’s eye as he came to retrieve the paper, but he kept his gaze stubbornly fixed on inanimate objects in the vicinity.

He walked the paper up to his mother, and this time, Cady didn’t miss the beat that passed between them.

Caryn’s eyes fell to the paper, and in that fraction of a second before her control snapped into place, Cady saw fine blue veins pulse at her temples. The moment was there and gone again, replaced by a breezy laugh that ended up an amused but pitying smile.

“It’s adorable that you thought a handwritten note would be any kind of evidence, but even if my husband would lower himself to be with Fern Bloomquist, not one other person knows about it or witnessed a thing.”

“Yes, they did.”

Every single hair on Cady’s body stood on end. Her cheeks prickled as blood drained from her face. Her pulse moved from her chest to her ears, her lips, her neck—even her eyelids, it seemed.

The old wooden pews creaked as every single person in the meeting hall turned toward the back of the room to see who it had come from.

Cady turned with them, even though the imprint of the specific timbre, texture, and pitch had been forever burned into her brain.

Time slowed. Faces blurred like a funhouse mirror as she searched the rows of spectators for the planes and angles of a visage she met nightly in her dreams. Once, then twice, she swept the crowd and came up empty.

Then he stood, and her heart stopped.

Fox.

His dark hair had been cropped into a military-precise Irish gangster fade, his face and neck clean-shaven for the first time since she’d met him. The grubby flannel and long-sleeve thermal had been traded for crisp dress blues, complete with an array of multicolored badges, ribbons, and embroidered patches she couldn’t begin to guess the meanings of. He stood and stepped into the aisle, revealing tapered slacks of a lighter blue embroidered with gold stripes narrowing into charcoal-black combat boots. Gold buttons winked from his chest as he stepped to the side to make way for a small, squat figure shoving past him.

“Ho-lee shit,” Myrtle said from behind her. “Is that Judy?”